"Good morning, you two," Heiter says, strutting in. "What a refreshing day!"
"No hangover?" I say. "Is it going to rain?"
I'm dumbfounded by the boorish priest's smugness. He shrugs off my jab, his usual drunken self unfazed. Wasn't he drinking last night? What even is a priest? Meanwhile, Himmel and I have already eaten breakfast. He overslept, yet acts like this.
"Today's a good day," Himmel says. "On our journey, he was useless one day a week. This week, it was every other day."
"Since when did 'hungover' change meaning?" I retort.
"Haha, harsh," Heiter says. "But I'm up earlier than Frieren. If she woke this early, I'd have to praise her."
Heiter invents a new definition of hungover, dodging with that absent elf. His excuse is pathetic—Frieren's worse? Himmel and that dwarf must've suffered traveling with them.
"Besides," Heiter says, "I can't be hungover the day you leave. Let's eat."
"You…" I mutter.
He prays and digs into breakfast like it's nothing. Today marks a week since we arrived in the capital—a whirlwind week starting with Himmel tricking me here, facing death in the audience, mostly thanks to this priest. Himmel's trouble enough, but adding this overgrown child? I'm seriously considering banning alcohol at home. Heiter's hangovers were a nightmare, though he seems fine today. I'd have left him if he wasn't. But just as I relax—
"By the way, Himmel," Heiter says, "stopping by Eisen's?"
"Of course," Himmel says. "I wrote him already. We'll visit on the way back."
"…What?" I freeze.
My hands, washing dishes, stop. I nearly drop a plate. Did I mishear? What did he say?
"What's that?" I say. "You didn't tell me!"
"I didn't," Himmel grins. "Thought it'd surprise you."
"Is his hangover contagious?" I snap, glaring at Heiter.
"Rude," Heiter says. "Liquor's the best medicine. I'm in top shape."
"Idiot," I mutter.
Heiter's nonsense aside, Himmel's words make my head spin. Is it Heiter's influence or just him? He thinks he can do anything as long as he's not lying. What am I to him? This week was proof—Himmel dragged me around the capital, claiming to "show me around," leaving me exhausted daily. Where does his energy come from? Today's no different, and now a dwarf's house after escaping the capital? Is this a joke? My jest about meeting the whole Hero's Party might become reality.
"Well," Heiter says, sensing my mood, "how about this, Aura? I'll take you where you wanted to go today."
Did he plan this or just seize the moment? This priest is too cunning. No demon could outtalk him.
"Oh?" I say. "You remembered? I thought you were too drunk to recall."
"No way," Heiter says. "My motto is 'drink, don't be drunk.' Breaking a promise to a lady? I'd never face the Goddess."
Haha, he spouts nonsense, a holy man making my head hurt. I finish washing dishes, too tired to argue. It's pointless. But I notice Himmel, usually loud, is quiet, looking stunned.
"What's that?" Himmel says, dumbfounded. "I didn't know!"
"Of course," I say. "You were passed out."
"That first night," Heiter explains, "she mentioned an interest in trials. I asked if we could observe one in the capital. Permission came through today."
That night of forced drinking, amid pointless chatter, I mentioned trials in jest. I didn't think he'd take it seriously, but it's intriguing. I'll go along. But—
"That's not fair!" Himmel whines. "Why didn't you tell me? I wanted us to do the farewell rounds together!"
"You were drunk," I say. "And you're not interested. It'd bore you."
"That's not it!" he protests. "I hate being left out! I planned to take you with me today!"
"No thanks," I say. "Go alone. You're not a kid."
Himmel throws a tantrum, upset at being excluded. That's my line! This whole capital trip was his idea, and now I've turned the tables—his own fault. He planned to drag me around again. Spare me. That red robe makes me stand out enough; with Himmel, the hero, I'd be a spectacle. I won't admit his boasting, but he's undeniably the capital's hero. Avoiding his chaos makes Heiter's offer a lifesaver, though Himmel would find the trial dull.
"Haha, rejected, Himmel," Heiter teases. "I'll take care of her, so don't worry."
"Says who?" I snap.
"Ugh, you'll both pay for this!" Himmel cries.
Like a petty thug, Himmel bolts out. Good riddance. Maybe he'll calm down. But—
"He'll show up here later," I say.
"Probably," Heiter nods. "As expected of Mom. You've got your son Himmel figured out."
He uses that "Mom" nonsense again. It's an insult, but I'm too tired to care.
Following the fleeing hero, I leave with the boorish priest—
The capital's courthouse is inside a massive church. Apparently, the church handles trials too. Heiter explained this morning, but I didn't fully grasp it. Doesn't matter now. A robed priest greets us at the entrance—priest, monk, whatever. Heiter said they're similar, but is that right?
"Here you are, Master Heiter," the priest says. "This way."
"And this is?" he asks, glancing at me.
"An old friend," Heiter lies smoothly. "We met up in the capital. The high priest approved, so it's fine."
"Understood," the priest says. "This way."
Heiter lies effortlessly, striding in. Is he really a priest? I've lost count of how often I've wondered this week. No use dwelling—I follow. Stepping inside, I'm struck by—
A different world.
I catch my breath. It's nothing like the village church—an alien air, oppressive, white-walled, dominated by a towering Goddess statue. Below it, a robed figure presides, likely the judge. A man, hands bound, kneels, pleading for mercy—the defendant. Others surround him, silent, seated in rows for spectators, entranced by the scene, as if possessed by something unseen.
I'm captivated too. I've never seen this. The closest is demons pledging loyalty to the Demon King, but this is different—not dominance or submission, but faith, a human concept from scriptures, alien to demons. Something in me stirs. What is this?
"What are you doing, Aura?" Heiter whispers. "Over here."
I'd stopped without realizing. I sit as Heiter urges, unnoticed despite my robe. No one even registers our entry.
"It's already started," Heiter murmurs.
The trial's underway. The judge—maybe a priest—reads the defendant's charges: murder and theft. He crouches, listening, clearly unresigned but silent, knowing interruption would worsen his case.
"Murder and theft," I mutter. "Guilty means death."
"You're really into this," Heiter says, impressed. "You even know that?"
"Just passing time," I say. "Thanks to someone."
I spoke without thinking. This year, I've read human books, gaining useless knowledge. I understand the trial—murder and theft, routine for demons, unpunished in our lawless world. But humans, with their equality and order, forbid it. Utterly irrational.
"I didn't do it!" the defendant cries. "I was framed! Believe me!"
He begs, a demon's trick to deceive. But is he lying? He's accused of killing a man and stealing. The victim's wife and friend, witnesses, saw him flee. The outcome's obvious.
"What a waste," I mutter.
"Waste?" Heiter says. "You said that before. About what?"
"This trial," I say. "It's pointless. You humans can't know if he's telling the truth, or the witnesses. This just breeds false convictions—what's it called, injustice?"
I don't get it. Order's one thing, but this method's flawed. Such deception risks executing the innocent. Without evidence, it's worse.
"You're right," Heiter says. "But that's why this exists—to get as close to truth as possible."
"How noble," I say. "I'd end it faster… though not now, I suppose."
I recall I'm a captive too, not so different from the defendant. Even at my peak, I'd see no point in this.
"What do you—?" Heiter starts, puzzled.
"Found you!" Himmel pants, rushing in. "Made it in time."
He must've raced through his farewells. What a child.
"Himmel, you're early," Heiter says.
"Should've stayed away," I mutter.
"My treatment's getting worse, Aura!" Himmel whines.
That's my line. His arrival's annoying, but worse—I realize the trial's content. He shouldn't be here. Why?
"Your Grace!" the defendant cries. "Please, save me!"
Of course. The ultimate do-gooder can't enjoy this farce.
"What…?" Himmel stammers.
"Quiet!" a priest snaps, pinning the defendant down. "Behave!"
"Let me go!" he pleads. "I have a wife, kids! I can't die here… please!"
"Don't fall for it, Your Grace!" the wife shouts. "He killed my husband and stole from us! I saw him flee!"
Himmel's lost, overwhelmed. The defendant, desperate, begs the hero, hoping for salvation. The wife counters, and the solemn trial turns chaotic. What a farce. Why are humans so foolish?
Himmel's face twists in anguish. I told him not to come. Why care about something unrelated? Such a fool. But it's an opportunity. It might work.
"Aura…?" Himmel says.
"What's wrong?" Heiter asks.
Both stare as I stand, but I lock eyes with Himmel, looking down—a rare moment.
"A deal, Himmel," I say. "Release Azeliese temporarily. I'll save that man."
Like a year ago, but with different terms, I offer Himmel a bargain.
"What!?" Heiter snaps. "That's not allowed—"
"Quiet, Heiter," I say. "Temporarily, of course."
Heiter panics—it looks like betrayal, blackmail. But Himmel meets my gaze, his anguish gone, replaced by his hero's resolve.
"Can you really save him?" he asks.
"Depends on him," I say. "Your choice, Himmel."
I challenge him, a nostalgic thrill. This is our true dynamic—demon and human.
"Don't, Himmel!" Heiter warns. "If she tricks us, it's irreversible! Everything we've—"
"If I try anything, cut my head off," I interrupt. "Easy for you, right?"
I push, echoing last year. Will he behead me now? I don't know. I'm not gambling that far.
A moment's silence.
"Alright," Himmel says. "I trust you, Aura. 'I release Azeliese temporarily.'"
The shackles of Azeliese vanish, effortlessly, unbelievably.
I laugh softly, my lips curling. I'm thrilled, barely containing my glee. I want to cackle, dance. But I hold back—ruining this would ruin everything. This is the first step. I endured this year for this moment. I didn't expect it so soon.
My joy's uncontainable. I clench and unclench my fists, feeling free, whole. It's exhilarating.
I walk to the stage, each step a delight.
"Stop!" a priest shouts. "Only authorized—"
"Out of my way," I say.
I consider magic but refrain. Heiter, flustered, holds the priest back. Perfect. Let's finish this deal.
I shed my robe, revealing my demon nature by choice, unlike the audience. Fear and unease grip the room. I see it differently than a year ago—like a god, as humans say.
"Ready to sell your soul to a demon?" I whisper to the defendant. "If so, I'll save you."
I mimic a book's phrase—selling your soul to a devil. I'm the devil here. Normally, I'd demand payment, but this situation is reward enough. The outcome's up to him, not some god.
He's speechless, maybe terrified or restrained, but he nods. The deal's sealed.
I summon a scale with magic—my other half, untouched for a year, yet it feels like forever.
Azeliese's release was the condition to use it, learned last year with Himmel. While under Azeliese, I can't use it—likely to prevent Himmel from wielding it risk-free. Even a Sage of Destruction's magic has rules, forcing this hassle. But it's exploitable.
I unleash my magic. Heiter grips his holy book, but Himmel stops him. Infuriating man. Two souls appear on the scale. The outcome's obvious.
"I command you," I say, "'speak the truth.'"
The deal's terms, an ironic command for a demon. I learned Azeliese's true use through Himmel—proving the devil's paradox. I can't know the result, but it favors the defendant, and Himmel. An undeniable verdict. I could use it on the witnesses, but there's no point. The truth's clear—let them sort it out.
I don my robe and return to Himmel, my mind elsewhere. Heiter's the same. What're they doing?
"Hurry up and rebind me," I snap. "This isn't a show."
Why make me wait? It's humiliating enough, with eyes on me for being a demon. I want out.
"Sure," Himmel says. "'Be my friend again, Aura.'"
His absurd command binds me again. Apparently, Azeliese accepts it. What's this joke? Is he warping my magic? A nightmare. Heiter watches, stunned.
This resolved the chaotic trial, and earned Aura the title "The Scales," not "The Guillotine"—
At the capital's gate, Heiter, seeing us off, grumbles. "You shocked us. I was stuck cleaning up."
"Serves you right," I say.
I caused a stir, sure, but I prevented an injustice. No complaints. Heiter, explaining to everyone, looks like a proper priest for once. He should work this hard more often, or he'll be a freeloader like Himmel. Too late, maybe.
"By the way, Himmel," Heiter says, serious, "a question."
"What…?" Himmel replies.
Is it another audience issue? Or the trial? Himmel's all ears, but—
"Can I have her?" Heiter asks.
"No way," Himmel says.
"What am I, a pet?" I snap.
What's with him? He wanted to ditch me at first, now this because I'm useful? Insufferable.
"Kidding," Heiter says. "Come to the Holy City next time. You're welcome."
"No thanks," I say. "I'm done with drunken priests."
"Haha, harsh," Heiter laughs.
I mean it—no more Heiter, ever. The Holy City's tempting, but not with him. He laughs it off, shamelessly thick-skinned.
"Take care, Himmel," Heiter says. "Say hi to Eisen."
"Will do," Himmel says. "Don't drink too much."
"Quit drinking," I add.
With no closure, Himmel and I leave the capital for Eisen's. When will this Hero's Party tour end? I pray it skips that elf.
Heiter watches his friends depart, bickering as always, until they vanish—